


Ripples on the Lethe

by Fyre



Category: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-21
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:52:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1853, an assassin's blade brings the Emperor of Austria a little closer to Death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripples on the Lethe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Milady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milady/gifts).



> One of the performers who played Death said that he believed Death would come to each person in a shape they desired, which is why Death resembles Heinrich Heine to Elisabeth. To Franz Josef, Death looks very different.
> 
> I do hope you don't mind that I shamelessly used this concept ;)

A blade had been raised to the Master of Vienna.

Soldiers were shouting, leaping upon the assailant, bearing him to the ground.

His Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty, Emperor Franz Josef, Holy Roman Emperor, lay on the bastion, staring into the pool of his own blood. It was bright, he noted with strange clarity. That did not bode well, for bright blood came from the heart.

O’Donnell caught him by the shoulders in a quite unsuitable manner. “Majesty?”

Franz Josef looked to him, though it made his head spin. “I am struck,” he said.

“Aye, Majesty,” O’Donnell agreed, holding him to his breast and covering the wound with a gloved hand. “Struck but not yet dead.” His grip was sure, and he said with confidence, “You will not die here, Majesty.”

Franz Josef would that he could nod. His vision was darkening, and yet he did not fear. It was only shame that touched his mind, that his reign had been cut so short. He breathed heavily and allowed his eyes to close.

When he opened them, there was only darkness about him. The walls of the bastion were still there, but it seemed as if he looked through a pane of coloured glass, the world distorted around him.

“O’Donnell?”

Footsteps approached, echoing strangely in this darkened world.

The young Emperor of Austria struggled to rise. It surprised him that it took little effort, and his mind felt clear, sharp as a blade. He turned about, seeking any who might tell him where he stood and why.

A woman stood close to, gazing at him.

She was tall, near as tall as he himself. Dark hair coiled around her unnaturally pale and solemn face. He was not one to notice the fashions of the ladies at court, but he could not help but notice her clothing was unlike that of any lady he had ever seen, dark, jewelled and fitted in ways that caught his breath. She wore breeches and a formal coat. Almost a uniform. Boots. Her hands were gloved, and also jewelled.

“Madame,” he offered, his voice catching.

She walked towards him with a boldness that made him retreat a pace. Dark, almond-shaped eyes surveyed him, and she lifted a gloved hand to the wound at his throat. Such audacity was crass to the extreme, yet he could not stop her.

“Your time is not yet here, young Majesty,” she murmured, gazing at him. Her voice was low, rich, and made him tremble as no battle ever had. Her lips curved so slightly, he would not have noticed had he not been staring. “Yet, you believed it to be so.” She drew her finger along the edge of his collar. “Death will never be a stranger to you.”

He shivered, stepping back to bow briskly. “Madame, if you excuse me.”

She tilted her head, gazing at him with a frank curiosity that unnerved him as much as that quiet, barely-visible smile. “You came to these lands as you so wished,” she said, folding her arms upon her breast. “You do not yet have my leave to depart.”

Franz Josef looked around again with growing fear. “I still stand on the bastion!” he protested. “These are my lands.”

She smiled again, knowingly. “These are a shadow of your lands, little Emperor,” she said, drawing closer to him. “All of the lands in all the world have their shadow, where those who are fallen rest.” She touched his cheek lightly. “Surely you are not vain enough to think your little land is the end of all things.”

He flushed, though whether at her touch or her words, he could not say. “And what lands are these, pray?” he demanded. His mouth felt dry, and he knew he could not feel such dread and wonder if he were truly dead. “Who are you to keep them?”

“You know well,” she murmured. She moved her hand to touch his lips with a single fingertip. “You need not speak my name,” she murmured, “but know this, little Emperor: you will walk a little longer, but as you have sought me in my world, so I will seek you in yours.”

“My time,” he said faintly.

She laughed and he trembled at the sound. “Oh, fear not, little Majesty,” she murmured, leaning so close to him. “You will live a long life, in good health until the very end.” Her lips ghosted against his cheek, burning with their chill. “But you will see me in your every step, and you will know that you should not have hoped to feel my embrace.”

He stepped back sharply. “No.”

She watched him with open amusement. “Your laws are not mine, boy,” she said. One hand came to rest on her hip. “You are not the only one who must do their duty, as much as you think it may be so.”

“Your duty does not shadow mine,” he said, his hands clenched to fists at his sides.

“No,” she agreed and smiled. “But there is more to life than duty.” She was close to him again and caught his chin in a merciless grip. “You will learn soon,” she said softly, “but not before you forget me.”

He opened his mouth to protest and was silenced by a kiss that closed his world around him.

When he woke, he was lying in his narrow bed in the Hofburg, a dozen harried physicians staring hopefully down at him. He brought a hand to his throat, which was thickly bandaged, rather more than was truly necessary. A precautionary display, he supposed.

“Franzl?”

He turned his head enough to look past the physicians. “Mother?”

The Archduchess smiled down at him, though he thought he could see something not unlike fear fading in her eyes. “So you are quite well then,” she said briskly. “That is well. You do not feel any weakness?”

Franz Josef considered himself. He could remember darkness, and feeling fear that his end was close. That fear had dissipated, but there was still a sense of something amiss, something he could not quite touch.

It was foolish, of course.

“I am quite well,” he said, almost completely sure that he was right.


End file.
